Page 14 of Perfect Satisfaction

West thunders, “Because you were led by that ridiculous thing in your chest—or maybe between your legs— instead of your brain.”

“He—his paper has hounded my friends and family for years.” I’m practically choking on the words.

“Now he’s hounding mine. So if you please, do something about that.” West drops into his chair and picks up his pen, firmly dismissing me.

I flip past pages of articles to the one West flagged for my attention and as I reread the article exposing Angie’s identity my blood boils. Then ice chills my veins when I read the flagged pages that show Arek Ronan is the owner of StellaNova. “It’s not possible.”

Is it?

Did I betray my best friend a second time?

Unable to handle it, I surge from my chair and race out of West’s office. I need to get to New York. I need to see his face.

I need to prove my father for the liar he is—always has been.

I need to validate my husband would never betray me. Not in this way.

CHAPTERSIX

Have you ever wondered about the fact your nose runs when you cry? Apparently there’s a scientific link between heartbreak and your immune system.

Who knew?

I wish I didn’t.

—Moore You Want

The Next Night

“How could you?” I scream at him.

He doesn’t say a single word—nothing to deny his actions nor to defend them.

His silence speaks for itself. It’s abundantly clear this wasn’t a sick joke perpetrated by my father.

Tears stream so hot and fast down my face, they burn as they trickle past my still healing nose ring—something I told Arek I wanted instead of a wedding band. The salt scalding when they land on my lips. Lips swollen from the devastating kiss he gave me when I entered his—our—apartment hours ago.

Sore from the obsessive way he pressed me against the wall near the door.

He took my body places it’s never been—like he knew there will be no tomorrow between us. I sway unsteadily remembering the way my husband’s scruffy beard abraded my skin as he ran kisses all over my face, my breasts. Then he dropped to his knees and worshipped between my thighs making me call out his name as I creamed on his face.

He lapped it up.

Just before he thrust inside me.

The first time.

Then again on the scratchy sofa he swore last month we’d be able to replace soon, “I’ll keep an eye out, honey. It’s New York. You never know what I’ll find.”

I opened my mouth to tell him the truth then—to hell with waiting to talk with my brothers. But he stole the thoughts from my brain by kissing me.

Now, I wrap my arms around my naked body, thighs still quivering as I recall the way his touch was almost desperate both times when he plunged his cock inside of me. Over and over, he kept whispering, “Moore.”

I gave him myself without reservation—just like always. After I came down from the high of having him erupt inside me, I wondered when his whisky voice murmured that so close to my ear, if his asking for more was a demand for my capitulation or a play on my last name. A sweet benediction.

Will I ever know?

A text I receive from West about a project reminds me of why I am there. Hesitantly, I ask, ending with, “Arek, there must be some mistake.”